


The Body Doctor

by megyal



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nigel programmed them to feel. I designed them to feel the world.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> YAY FIRST WORK IN THIS FANDOM. The entire last paragraph seemed to pop into my head whole last night. Nothing belongs to me, except Dr. Georges. 
> 
> Spoilers, kinda, for s1e9 - 'Unbound'.

My name is Doctor Zola Georges, and they call me the Body Doctor. That's an assignation given by humans, but I've never worked on a human body. While Dr. Vaughn perfected his Synthetic Soul, he assigned me to focus on the physical interface of the androids, their touch-feedback systems, the translation of their external environment by their protocols. Nigel programmed them to feel. I designed them to feel the world.

I left Lumacorp right after I completed the interfaces for the XRN. I put just as much thought into the XRN as I did for the DRN, but...it was still different. Nigel, bitter after the universal rejection of the DRN series, became cold and reckless. He was my friend, and a brilliant man, but I was afraid for him, and for what he could do.

I was right to be afraid.

I was lucky to find work after Lumacorp dissolved and the trials had been completed. I hadn't spoken to Nigel since he had been stripped of his everything. As a matter of fact, I hadn't had anything to do with any of the Lumacorp series...until today.

Doctor Rudolph Lom called me at home. I glanced up from my holo-table as the chimes intruded on my concentration, elbow deep in a wiring projection, trying to sort out a more logical layout. It probably wouldn't matter to the android, but I wanted them to feel comfortable. That was all Nigel's influence, I suppose.

I blinked at the message being recorded on the clear window-pane to my left, that of a narrow-faced man who seemed to twitch without moving.

"Hi, I mean, pleasant greetings, Dr. Georges. Yes. Well. I'm Dr. Lom and I'd really, _really_ , appreciate your assistance with some aspects of a DRN unit who's assigned to this precinct. That is, er, if you've the time. I know you're--"

I picked up the call before I could let myself think properly. I closed down the shimmering imagery of the wiring schematics and gazed on Dr. Lom's stunned expression.

"Dr. Lom," I said, hoping that my voice didn't tremble in anticipation. "Dr. Georges, here. How can I help you?"

++

I sat on a stool in Dr. Lom (Please-Call-Me-Rudy)'s lab, admiring the intricate stained glass overhead. It filtered in a lovely light, as artificial as it was. I felt a bubble of amusement at the thought; we were in the business of artificial, after all.

Rudy flitted from workstation to workstation, a constant babble of conversation emanating from his mouth. He pulled open compartments, rummaged through containers and exclaimed, "Ah-ha!" as he located what he had been looking for. The laboratory was messy, but I found it to be a comforting kind of disorder. He approached me with a slight smile, one hand outstretched, palm up. "Here we are, Dr. Georges."

"Zola," I told him, leaning forward to peer at the small, flat disk. It was made of a clear material, and had a small slot in its center. "Oh… this belongs to the pressure feedback system." 

Rudy nodded emphatically. "Yes, exactly, but I haven't been able to source a replacement for Dorian--"

"Dorian?" I couldn't help a large smile. "That's a nice name."

"Is it?" Rudy wrinkled his nose. "I suppose. But, see, even though I've tried making this little bit on my own, but I can't quite get those little angles, there on the top and in the middle. Can't get any funds to _build_ a machine for it, either. Which is a shame, Dorian's is getting worn."

"Those were specially constructed for the DRNs." I pushed the small case I had brought with me along the top of the workstation. "Using this."

I activated the case and it unpacked itself with quiet efficiency, extending upwards and horizontally. Rudy's eyes widened as the machine hummed to life, blue lines glowing along the edges and down the middle.

"Ohhhh this is...." Rudy turned it around with an air of reverence. " _This. Is._ "

"It can also make the restrictor valves. And the delta set of processing relays."

"Oh, my." Rudy was openly fondling the machine now. "If I could have this for a few days, I could make enough replacements to last... well, forever, actually."

"You may keep it." I got to my feet and stuck my hands in the pockets of my loose trousers. "I really have no need for it anymore."

"Dr. Georges!" Rudy's hands gripped the machine as if I had threatened to take it away this instant. "That's right kind of you!"

"Dr. Georges," a quiet voice called from the entry to the lab. I gripped the long lapels of my shirt, reflexively. I turned around to look at a DRN unit, standing there with a curious yet welcoming expression. A human male stood behind the DRN, his gaze raking over me in a distrustful manner.

"Hello," I said, and swallowed past the strange lump in my throat. I'd forgotten that sweet air the DRNs possessed, despite the mess of human emotions we gave them, despite the job we designed them for. This one was no different; he stepped forward and held out his hand, hopeful and polite. I took it; his fingers, a few shades lighter than mine, gripped my hand too loosely. He really did need that replacement part: right now, he couldn't gauge how much pressure to exert on my hand.

"You must be Dorian," I said and the DRN nodded.

"I am." He turned his head, fixing his bright gaze on the man who had accompanied him. "Detective John Kennex, this is Dr. Zola Georges, the physical interface specialist for the DRN series."

John Kennex squinted at me. "Family's coming out of the woodwork, huh. First your father, so I guess she's your mother?"

Dorian released my hand, and turned fully to give John Kennex a long, censorious stare. I couldn't stop looking at the planes of his face, one part of my work which had pleased Nigel so much.

"John," he said in a low voice, almost as if he was speaking through his teeth, embarrassed. Now it was my turn to admire the nuances of Nigel's work. He had called the detective by his first name, and in a familiar manner. "Dr. Georges is gender-neutral."

John sniffed and said, "Still a parent, though, right?"

Dorian looked at me, eyes wide and expectant. I let out a slow breath, my heart beating its synthetic rhythm in my chest. I didn't know the answer to that question. I've designed quite a few series of androids, but I've never gained that air of indulgence for them, as Nigel had.

Instead I said, "Dorian, I'd like to help Rudy replace a relay in your pressure feedback system. May I?" I glanced between him and Rudy. Rudy seemed staggered with delight. John Kennex folded his arms and simply glared at me.

He _really_ didn't trust me, I realised. He was… _protective_ of Dorian. How interesting.

"I would really love that, Dr. Georges," Dorian said in his warm voice, and one side of his mouth quirked up as he smiled. His human continued to glower at me quite eloquently, even as we opened Dorian's chest-plate and proceeded with the relay exchange.

Nigel always told me that I needed to express myself more, that I was more taciturn than a BRN. As I worked, I hoped that Dorian felt everything I ever thought to say.

++

An android without a face sat at my desk, waiting for me as I got home. I closed the door to my office slowly, and that glowing sensor in the middle of its brow spilled red light across the desk and walls.

It watched me as I approached.

"Zola." Nigel's voice emerged from the bulky chest of the android. "How are you?"

I sat down very slowly on the small daybed in the corner. "I'm fine, Nigel. I saw DRN-0167 today."'

"Dorian," Nigel murmured. "Is he... well?"

"Yes," I answered. "He's with people who..." I let the phrase trail out. _Who love him_ , I nearly said, but I'm sure Nigel heard it anyway. "Where are you, Nigel?"

"I'm safe. I'm working, Zola."

"On what?"

He didn't answer that question.

Instead, he asked: "If I needed you to come, Zola, would you?" His tone was calm but pleading. Hopeful. Like Dorian. "Would you come to where I am?"

I thought about Dorian and the sincere beauty that was his existence.

"I would," I told my friend. "I would."

++

You know, I never understood why they called you 'crazy'. They asked for a synthetic that could feel, and then they treated you like machines. They wanted a sensitive construct, with emotions so that you could be around humans and not upset _them_ with robotic peculiarity. But when you got emotional, they got scared and switched you off. I think your programming responded just the way it was supposed to. You didn't go crazy. You went human.

We made you to love, and didn't love you back.

But maybe, Dorian, you're one of the lucky ones.


End file.
